


Sheets Soaking Wet

by romanticalgirl



Series: behind the song [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A six inch valley through the middle of my skull.</p><p>Based on the Bruce Springsteen song "I'm on Fire"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheets Soaking Wet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 6-3-08

It’s late when she knocks on the door, later still when it opens, and Angela is leaning against the solid wood, backlit by the bright lights that offset the gloom of the house. Maggie knows loneliness like an old friend, familiar with the signs that it’s taken up residence. She’s lived with it a long time, Mitch is gone more than he’s ever there, and it’s clear from the hopeful look in Angela’s eyes that they’re sharing more than the same cul de sac.

“I brought wine.”

Angela steps back in an unspoken invitation, letting Maggie into the spotless living room. Maggie can tell it’s still the early stages – the part where you still care, still think that a clean house, a hot meal and the best Fredrick’s of Hollywood has to offer will make a difference. Maggie’s far past that, into the stage where she has her own places in the house, the take out menus of all the places that deliver and Toys in Babeland bookmarked on her computer.

“Steve should be home soon.” Angela starts to say more than stops at Maggie’s look. “Maybe one glass.”

Maggie sets the box of wine on the coffee table, filling the two plastic wine glasses she brought with her. “Sure. One glass.” She settles back on the couch, taking a sip.

“Frank’s not home tonight?”

Maggie laughs and shakes her head, kicking off her heels and pulling her feet up on the couch. “Not exactly. What about you? Daddy leave you all alone?”

“He’s not that much older.” Angela sits on the other end of the couch, leaning forward to pick up her wine. Maggie watches her, the lacy hint of whatever Angela’s wearing peeking out, brash in black against her pale skin.

“Angel, you’re a little girl compared to him.” Maggie laughs softly to take the sting out of her words. She reaches out and traces the delicate lace at the edge of Angela’s tank top. “Little girl playing dress up.”

Angela’s eyes half close at the touch, and Maggie’s too damn familiar with the desperate need that’s naked on Angela’s face. Loneliness and hunger and the unadulterated ache for contact. Maggie watches with equal hunger as her finger continues a slow path over the lace.

“I’m not playing anything,” Angela manages, her voice faint as her eyes drift closed completely. “Maggie.”

“What, Angel? Not gonna hurt you.” She curls her finger slightly, letting it slip beneath the fabric. “Be good to you.”

“We can’t.” Angela doesn’t stop Maggie, doesn’t pull away. Her back arches instead, offering her body up to Maggie.

“We can.” Maggie assures her. “We can do all sorts of things. Things he can’t do.” She leans in, closing the distance between them, her breath fanning over Angela’s lips. “Say yes, Angela.”

“Maggie.”

Maggie moves closer still. She licks her lips, the tip of her tongue barely grazing against Angela’s. “Say yes.”

Angela’s breath catches, hot as she exhales shakily. “Yes.”

Maggie groans low and opens her mouth, kissing Angela eagerly. It’s like spontaneous combustion, and they go up in flames. Angela matches Maggie kiss for kiss, their tongues seeking and exploring. Maggie deepens it, tasting all the hot surfaces, swallowing the hungry noises Angela gasps out.

Angela brings a shaky hand up to Maggie’s thick, dark hair and tangles her fingers in it. Maggie’s low approval comes out in a moan and the warm curve of her hand on Angela’s breast. She holds the weight of it, heavy against her palm as she runs the pad of her thumb across Angela’s hardened nipple.

“Oh.” Angela breaks the kiss to suck in a breath, her back arching again, pressing her harder against Maggie’s palm. “Oh, yes.”

Maggie takes the cue and tilts her head, exploring Angela’s throat. It tastes like powder and perfume, a hint of perspiration and the salty tang of woman. Her skin is still smooth, none of the lines, wrinkles or dryness that plague Maggie as she ages. Angela’s still sweet and naïve, and Maggie can feel it all like flavors on her tongue.

Angela tightens her hand in Maggie’s hair, holding her in place as Maggie’s mouth moves to the hollow beneath Angela’s ear, her tongue and teeth eliciting ragged gasps that echo hotly on Maggie’s own neck. Maggie pushes at Angela’s tank top, pulling away just enough to guide it up.

Angela shivers with the sudden chill on her skin, quickly trying to move back against Maggie. Maggie catches her shoulders instead, guiding Angela backwards until her body rests against the couch. “What are you doing?” Angela asks softly, her voice shaking.

Maggie shakes her head in response and drops her eyes to the swell of Angela’s breasts, cream- rose skin rising from the dark lace. Bending her head, she runs her tongue just above the edge of Angela’s bra, rumbling a low sound against Angela’s skin at the feel.

“Oh. God. Maggie.” Angela reaches out, grasping air until she finds the fabric of Maggie’s shirt, fisting her fingers in the soft cotton. Maggie murmurs something unintelligible against Angela’s skin, not sure she’s even making sense even in her own head. She cups Angela’s breasts, fingers and palms damp with excitement and need. She tugs the lace downward, pushing the fabric over the hardness of Angela’s nipples, exposing them to the air. Maggie eagerly closes her mouth over Angela’s right nipple, teeth and tongue applying pressure to the sensitive skin.

Angela’s gasp sounds something like a sob as Maggie tortures her with hard, slow pressure, her hand teasing the other breast, her fingers pinching the nipple with different but equal force.

“Maggie…Maggie…” Angela’s voice is shaky and pleading, though it’s unclear if she wants more or wants Maggie to stop. Regardless, Maggie doesn’t want to stop, so she moves her mouth to Angela’s other breast, letting the cool air dance across the damp nipple. Maggie slides her hand down Angela’s flat stomach, her nails scraping the fabric of her shirt. “Oh, Maggie. God.”

Maggie pulls back just enough to see Angela’s face. Her dark blonde hair is splayed over the arm of the couch, and her eyes are closed, her lips parted with heavy breath. Maggie keeps watching as her hand slides lower, teasing the waistband of Angela’s skirt. “Haven’t felt anything yet,” Maggie assures her, letting her fingers skirt over to Angela’s hip to undo the zipper. “Barely even started.”

Angela makes a soft noise, her body rising off the couch to stay in contact with Maggie’s hand. “Please.”

“Don’t have to ask, Angel.” Maggie shifts back, tugging at the skirt until Angela raises her hips and it slides down. Her panties are the same stark black as her bra, dark on her pale skin. “So gorgeous.”

Angela blinks at Maggie, her eyes wide with want and need. She skims her fingers over Maggie’s shoulder, curling them in the fabric of her shirt. Maggie smiles and straightens just enough to tug her shirt over her head. She’s not as young as Angela, but she’s still in good shape, her muscles tight and firm beneath lotion-smooth skin. Her bra is serviceable, nothing too fancy or too plan. Angela sits up and trails her finger along the strap, following it down from Maggie’s shoulder to the curve of her breast.

“Like this?” she asks softly, tracing the edge of the cup.

“However feels good,” Maggie tells her, her own voice catching on the words. She knows the same need that was bare and hot on Angela’s face is likely echoed on her own, shuddering through her as Angela slides the ball of her thumb over Maggie’s hard nipple. “A-Angela…” Maggie bites back the moan that threatens to flood her throat. Angela smiles at the newfound power, pulling her hand back and watching Maggie react to the loss of her touch.

Maggie reaches back and unfastens her bra, letting it slip down her arms and fall away. Angela licks her lips as Maggie’s breasts fall free, the skin of them flushed with arousal. Angela unfastens her own bra, her already exposed breasts negating the need for it.

“I want to feel you,” Angela whispers, shifting so she can press against Maggie, bodies rubbing together, both of them closing their eyes against the sensations. “God.”

Maggie’s hands explore the silk of Angela’s body, stroking with her fingertips. She eases back just enough to cause Angela to make a soft sound, silencing it with a kiss. Angela moans against Maggie’s mouth, louder as she pulls away to slips off the couch onto the floor, kneeling at Angela’s feet.

Maggie unfastens her jeans as Angela watches with hungry eyes, wetting her lips with her tongue. She follows Maggie down to the floor, tracing the vee of denim with her finger. Maggie shivers and pushes her jeans down her thighs. Her one extravagance tonight, the silky red lace underwear, is stark against her tanned skin, and Angela’s fingers explore the fabric.

They move into each other, bumping against the table. The white carpet goes red with wine as it splatters across the surface, on the floor and on Maggie’s skin as Angela’s tongue moves over it.

Maggie groans, her body flushed and taut beneath Angela’s mouth as she explores and experiments. Maggie takes advantage of her distraction to slide her hand up Angela’s toned legs, finding the black lace that matches the discarded bra.

Angela gasps and arches into Maggie’s touch and Maggie laughs huskily, thrusting her fingers past the fabric into Angela’s wet heat. She bathes them in Angela’s arousal, thrusting them steadily as she works her way down Angela’s body, reveling in the shocked, desperate sounds Angela is making, ragged prayers huffed out through parted lips.

Maggie tugs Angela’s panties down, easing them to the floor. Angela groans when Maggie removes her fingers to slide the damp fabric off and Maggie shakes her head. “So hot, Angel,” Maggie whispers against Angela’s thigh as she makes her way up the skin. “Want to taste that heat.”

Angela’s response is lost in the pressure of her thighs as Maggie bows her head between them, by the pulse of her blood pounding in her ears and the feel of Angela’s flesh against her tongue.

“M-Maggie.” It’s a fervent whisper, half pleading and half prayer. Maggie’ answers both as best she can, her mouth against Angela’s skin, her tongue teasing over Angela’s clit.

It’s almost too easy to drive Angela over the edge, and Maggie knows it all so well – the waiting, the gradual absence of sex, the fear of sliding your fingers down in some desperate refusal to be the first to “betray” it all. Maggie tries to tell Angela it’s a lie, pushing her again and again until Angela’s tight as a wire, every muscle quivering with overstimulation. The sounds Angela’s making are something like begging, needing to breathe and unable to sustain another orgasm without breaking down.

Maggie leaves her head on Angela’s thigh, smelling the sweet-hot scent of her climax, inhaling her. Maggie’s fingers slide down into her own panties, past the damp clinging hair to her clit, riding her fingers and pushing herself to orgasm. She can feel Angela watching her, and she wants to tell her everything – what comes next, what can can come next. Instead, she looks up and holds Angela’s gaze, saying it all with a rough, fiery moan as she comes.


End file.
